Dear ——­,

Our residence at Vevey, thus far, has been fruitful of pleasure.  The lake, with its changeful aspects and movement, wears better even than the Oberland Alps, and we have now become thoroughly convinced of our mistake in establishing ourselves at Berne, beautiful as is that place, in 1828.  The motive was a desire to be central, but Switzerland is so small that the distances are of no great moment, and I would advise all our friends who intend to pass a summer in the cantons, and who have need of a house, to choose their station somewhere on the shores of the Leman.  Two steam-boats ply daily in different directions, and it is of little consequence at which end one may happen to be.  Taking everything into consideration “mon lac est le premier” is true; though it may be questioned if M. de Voltaire ever saw, or had occasion to see, half of its advantages.

We never tire of the Leman, but spend two or three hours every day in the boat.  Sometimes we row in front of the town, which literally stands in the water, in some places, musing on the quaint old walls, and listening to the lore of honest John, who moves two crooked oars as leisurely as a lady of the tropic utters, but who has seen great events in his time.  Sometimes even this lazy action is too much for the humour of the moment, and we are satisfied with drifting along the shore, for there is generally current enough to carry us the whole length of Vevey in half an hour.  Occasionally we are tossed about like an egg-shell, the winds at a distance soon throwing this part of the sheet into commotion.  On the whole, however, we have, as yet, had little besides calms, and, what is unusual in Switzerland, not a drop of rain.

We have no reason to suspect the lake to be unhealthy, for we are often out until after sunset, without experiencing any ill effects.  The shores are everywhere bold about Vevey, though the meadows and the waters meet near the entrance of the Rhone, some eight or ten miles from this place, in a way to raise the thoughts of rushes and lilies, and a suspicion of fevers.  The pure air and excellent food of the mountains, however, have done us all good thus far, and we are looking eagerly forward to the season of grapes, which is drawing near, and which every body says make those who are perfectly well, infinitely better.

I have not yet spoken to you of the greatest charm in the scenery of Vevey, and the one which perhaps has given us the highest degree of satisfaction.  The coast of Savoy, immediately opposite the town, is a range of magnificent rocks, that rises some four or five thousand feet above the surface of the water.  In general these precipices are nearly perpendicular, though their surfaces are broken by huge ravines, that may well be termed valleys.  This is the region that impends over Meillerie, St. Gingoulph, and Evian, towns or hamlets that cling to the bases of the mountains, and form, of themselves, beautiful objects, from this